Forgotten Vows

Chapter One

Adriana

The sounds of my eighteenth birthday party drift out across the manicured lawn behind my father's mansion, all the way to the garden nook where Lachlan and I are secluded.

I feel like I can hardly breathe. For months we've been sneaking moments in every closet and corner we can, the risk only adding to the rush of desire as we kissed and touched nearly every inch of each other's bodies—but only ever over clothes.

He wouldn't do more until tonight. Lachlan is two years older than me, and he felt guilty even kissing me to begin with, but neither of us has been able to help it. It was foolish from the start, the risk unthinkable from the moment we first ended up in a dark corner together, lips hovering closer and closer until we kissed for the first time… but we couldn't stop.

My father will kill us if he finds out. Both of us. I'm a daughter, not even an only child, worth only the alliance he can use me to make one day. And every touch of Lachlan's, every brush of his fingers against my skin and caress of his mouth, will have chipped away at my value in my father's eyes.

No mafia boss, be they Italian, Irish, or Russian, wants to marry a woman someone else has touched. And God, Lachlan has touched me so many times, the need building with every passing day until now.

His lips are on my throat, his breath quick and hot against my skin as his hands slide under my shirt. "You're sure?" he whispers against my ear, the ragged sound of it telling me exactly how hard it would be for him to stop if I said no… but I know he would. He'd never make me do anything I didn't want to.

He's the only person in this world who doesn't.

If anything, I've been the one pushing us. Lachlan has asked me before every kiss, every pass of his hands over my body, making sure that he's what I want, even though he's never put his hands under my clothes before. And now that we're finally here, now that I'm finally eighteen and his conscience can let him go further, he's still making sure.

I wriggle under him, conscious that there will be grass stains on the silk dress that I bought for the party, but we planned for that. My drink is sitting on a bench a few feet away, and I'll spill it on my dress after and then claim that I tripped and fell in my heels and dropped my drink on myself. I'll go change, and no one will be the wiser.

And in a few weeks, before my father can finalize any marriage plans, we're going to run away together.

We both know we should wait for this until then, until we're far away from my father and all the things he could do to us, but we can't. That's never been clearer to me than in this moment, as Lachlan's hand slides up my thigh and pushes my dress higher, my legs spreading to wrap around him as he groans.

"We can't stay out here forever," he whispers. "I wanted to take this slow, but—"

"I don't want to." I clutch at his shoulders, pressing my mouth to his throat. I have no idea what I'm doing, overall, but this I know—how much he likes the feeling of my lips on his neck, how hard he gets when I suck the spot where it meets his shoulder. I made him come like this once, without either of us touching his cock, while we were hiding in the corner of a linen closet in the mansion. "I want it now, Lachlan. Don't make me wait. Please."

"Okay," he groans. "Okay." His hips rock against me, only his jeans and the thin silk of my panties separating us. His fingers slide between us there, nudging my panties to one side, and I gasp as they stroke my clit. He makes a thick, low sound deep in his throat when he feels how wet I am.

Lachlan is nothing like the men I'm surrounded by every day, men like my father and brother and their associates. Lachlan isn't mafia, and he doesn't come from money. He's the son of one of my father's low-level soldiers—a rider in a motorcycle gang that runs protection and does dirty work for Giovanni Santoro. Lachlan's father isn't even anyone important in the gang, not a president or vice president. To my father, Lachlan is no one, lower than something on the bottom of his shoe, good only for killing or dying.

To me, he's everything. 

"It's your first time," he murmurs against my mouth. "It should be good, Adri. I should be making you come over and over, getting you ready, making you feel cherished, loved—"

"I do," I insist. "Please. I want you. You promised me, my birthday present—"

Lachlan lets out a rough laugh. "God, do you have any idea what you do to me? Begging for my cock for your birthday present." He brushes his nose against mine. "Begging for me. Fuck, little princess, you're going to be the death of me."

For a split second, fear clenches at my heart. "Don't say that," I plead, tugging his mouth down to mine. "Just please… please, Lachlan—"

"Okay." I hear the sound of his zipper as he uses his other hand to undo his pants, the one holding my panties aside still rubbing gently at my clit. It feels so good, and I'm gasping under him, wound tight with the anticipation of what comes next.

"We don't have time to work you up," he murmurs. "It's big, Adri, it's going to—"

"I know," I breathe. I've felt him pressed against me a hundred times by now; I know how big he is. And I feel it, a moment later, the broad tip of him separating my soaked folds as he presses his cock against my entrance.

"Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. "Shit, we need a condom—" His hand goes to his jeans pocket—jeans now pushed down around his hips—and he freezes.

"Dammit, it must have fallen out." He presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard, and I feel a flood of panic—not at the thought of doing it without a condom, but at the thought of him stopping.

"It's okay." I reach down, my fingers brushing against his naked cock for the first time, and his entire body jerks as if he's touched a live wire. He's hard and soft at the same time—stiff as an iron bar against me, but the skin is so silky smooth, and so hot. He feels like fire against me, like he'll burn me up, like we'll burn up together. "My period ended two days ago. I don't even think I can get pregnant right now. And anyway—" 

Something stirs in me at the thought of having Lachlan's baby, of there being something that can't ever separate us. It's silly and immature—neither of us is ready for a child, especially when just this, what we're doing now, is enough to get us both killed. But at the thought of his baby being inside me, my belly swelling with it, him seeing me carrying his child, holding our baby—my heart suddenly feels too big for my chest, and I want it almost as much as I want him right now.

I want him forever. And nothing is more forever than a baby.

"It's okay," I whisper again. "Please, Lachlan, we have to hurry—" I wrap my hand around his cock, urging him forward as my legs tangle around his, and he moans.

"God, Adri—" His hips move as if of their own volition, one of his hands digging into the dirt and grass next to us as the other slides between our bodies again, nudging my hand away. I feel him angling his cock against my entrance, and for a moment I'm sure it's too big, that it won't fit, that we can't…

"Just hang on," he breathes, and then he covers my mouth with his, swallowing my sound of pain as his hips snap forward, and he pushes himself into me. For a moment, I feel panicked—I'm too full, it's too big, it burns… and then I remember this is Lachlan, this is the man I've wanted for two years now, since I was sixteen and he was eighteen, and now we can finally have what we both want.

He's gone still for a moment, letting my body adjust to him, but I can feel the tremor running through his body. "I need to move, Adri," he chokes out. "Fuck, I need to—"

"I want you to." I grip his shoulders, his shirt, run my fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair as he starts to thrust, shallowly, his breath coming in rapid gasps that tell me he's struggling to maintain his control. His fingers find my clit, and I bite my lip against a moan, until he kisses me again and swallows it up.

"Come for me," he pleads, rocking against me as his fingers work faster. "I want you to come on my cock, princess, but God, I'm so close, I…"

The ragged sound of his voice, the desperation in it, drives me over the edge as much as his fingers do. I feel myself clenching, tightening, my back arching, and Lachlan kisses me again to muffle the sound of his pleasure, which almost sounds pained. "Fuck, you're so tight," he gasps. "It's almost too tight, it almost hurts, but God, I'm going to—"

The orgasm hits me, tearing through me so violently that I bite Lachlan's neck on reflex, anything to keep myself from screaming with the intensity of the pleasure and giving us away. I taste blood on my tongue as my teeth sink into his skin, and he presses his mouth into my shoulder, muffling his own moan as I feel his cock throb and jump inside of me, flooding me with a strange heat. His hips jerk reflexively, his entire body shuddering, and I open my eyes, wanting to see his face…

In that instant, that moment where we're as close as two people can ever possibly be, I see two things that make my blood run cold.

One is lights, moving in our direction.

The other is one of my shoes, kicked off in our rush to get back here, at the edge of the hedge hiding us.

"Lachlan," I whisper, my hands clutching at him. "Lachlan, we—"

"Over here!" A voice yells, and before either of us can come to our senses fully or move, I see the flashlight beams illuminate my shoe, and then…

Three of my father's men round the hedge and freeze at the sight of their boss's daughter on her back in a dark corner of the garden, a nobody boy on top of her with his jeans pulled down around his hips. And behind them, his face set in harsh, angry lines, is my father.

Giovanni Santoro.

The world explodes into chaos. Lachlan jerks away from me, scrambling backward, his hands fumbling to pull up his jeans. I'm frozen for a heartbeat before my body catches up to my brain, and I yank my dress down, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the fabric.

No. No, no, no—

"Get away from her!" One of the men lunges forward, grabbing Lachlan by the arm and wrenching him to his feet. Lachlan stumbles, still trying to fasten his jeans, and the man's fist connects with his jaw with a sickening crack that makes my stomach lurch.

"Stop!" The word tears out of my throat, raw and desperate. "Stop, please—"

But no one's listening. Another man has Lachlan now, twisting his arm behind his back, and Lachlan grunts in pain, his face contorting. The third man moves toward me, and I scramble backward on my hands, my bare feet slipping on the damp grass.

"Don't touch her." My father's voice cuts through the chaos, cold and even, and it's so much worse than shouting.

The man freezes. Everyone freezes.

Giovanni Santoro steps forward, his shoes crunching on the gravel path, and the sound is deafening in the sudden silence. He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit without a wrinkle on it, not a hair out of place, perfectly composed despite what he's just come upon. He looks at me the way someone might look at a dead animal on the side of the road—something distasteful.

Something ruined.

"Get up."

My legs won't work. I try to push myself up on trembling arms, but my knees buckle, and I collapse back onto the grass. Tears are streaming down my face, hot and humiliating, and I can't make them stop.

"I said get up, Adriana."

This time I manage it, but barely. I stand on shaking legs, my dress twisted and grass-stained, my hair a tangled mess around my shoulders. I can feel the wetness between my thighs, Lachlan's cum and my arousal and virgin blood—the evidence of what we've done. Shame burns through me so hot and fierce I think I might be sick.

My father's eyes move over me slowly. "Cover yourself," he says finally, his voice flat.

I look down and realize my dress is still bunched up around my hips on one side, showing my stained silk underwear, and I yank the fabric down with numb fingers, my face burning.

"Papa, I—"

"Quiet."

The word is a slap. I flinch, my mouth snapping shut.

Giovanni turns his attention to Lachlan, who's still held between two of his men, blood trickling from his split lip. Lachlan's eyes find mine across the space between us, and I can see the fear and defiance there in his expression… but I also see how much he loves me. So much that it makes my chest ache, tears spilling down my cheeks. I don't know what will happen to me, but to him…

We've always known that. And we did it anyway. God, this was stupid. So stupid…

But I can't entirely regret it. Not when Lachlan is looking at me like he wants to make sure I'm the last thing on this earth he sees before he dies, not when I can still feel his hands on me, making me his the way we both always wanted me to be. 

"Do you know who this is?" My father gestures at me almost casually, like he's pointing out a piece of furniture. "This is my daughter. My only daughter. Do you understand what that means?"

Lachlan says nothing. His expression is hard, his shoulders squared despite the hands gripping his arms.

"It means," Giovanni continues, his voice dropping lower, "that she was worth something. She had value. A virgin daughter of Giovanni Santoro—do you know how many alliances I could have made with her? How many deals I could have sealed?"

Could have. Past tense. The ground tilts beneath my feet.

"Papa, please—"

"I told you to be quiet." He doesn't even look at me. "You're worthless now. You understand that? No one will want you. No one will marry you. You're nothing but a used whore."

The words hit as hard as that punch to Lachlan's jaw. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but I'm breaking apart. I can feel myself starting to shake. 

"So the question becomes," my father says, turning back to Lachlan, "what do I do with you both? I could kill you quickly. A bullet to the head, dump your bodies in the river. Clean and simple. I could even send your father to do it for me." A cold, cruel smile curves his lips. "That's the kind of work he does for me, after all. Taking out the trash." 

I see Lachlan's jaw clench, and the wince of pain after, and I think I'm going to be sick. I know my father would do it—make Lachlan's dad kill us both, as a punishment for our sins. I never thought of something so horrible, but now that I'm hearing it… I believe it. And I can see Lachlan does, too.

My father pauses, tilting his head. "But that seems too kind, doesn't it? For the boy who ruined my daughter. For the daughter who spread her legs like a common whore on her eighteenth birthday."

"No." The word comes out as a whisper. "Papa, no, please—"

"You'll both die tomorrow," Giovanni says flatly. "In front of all of my men. I'll decide tonight how quickly I want to allow it to be. And everyone will know why. They'll know what happens when you disrespect Giovanni Santoro."

The men holding Lachlan tighten their grip, and one of them drives his fist into Lachlan's stomach. Lachlan doubles over with a choked gasp, and I lunge forward without thinking. 

"Stop! Stop it, please, I'll do anything—"

A hand catches my arm, yanking me back. The third man's fingers dig into my skin hard enough to bruise.

"Let her go." Lachlan's voice is rough and strained. He's straightened up somehow, despite the pain that must be radiating through him. "Let her go. This isn't—" He coughs, spits blood onto the grass. "This isn't her fault."

"No?" My father raises an eyebrow. "She seemed quite willing from what I saw."

"She wasn't." Lachlan's eyes lock onto Giovanni's, and I can see the desperation flickering in his eyes, but I know him. My father doesn't. "She wasn't willing. I forced her."

The world stops.

"What?" The word barely makes it past my lips.

"I forced her," Lachlan says again, louder this time. "She didn't want this. Any of this. I—I've been watching her for weeks. Waiting for an opportunity. Tonight, at the party, I saw her go outside, and I followed her. I grabbed her, dragged her back here. She fought me, but I'm stronger. I held her down and I—" His voice cracks. "I raped her."

Horror washes over me, turning my blood to ice. That's so unthinkable that I can't even believe I heard the lie spoken out loud. Lachlan, who asked me before every kiss if I was sure, who had to be begged to take my virginity tonight, who has given me every choice I could ever want when no one else ever has… he would never force me. He would never hurt me like that. 

"No." I shake my head violently. "No, that's not true, that's not what happened—"

"Shut up, Adriana." I flinch back, fresh tears springing to my eyes because he's never spoken to me like that before. Lachlan's eyes meet mine for just a second, and I see the plea there—the desperate, silent begging. Please. Please just let me do this.

"He's lying," I say, turning to my father. "Papa, he's lying, I wanted—"

"I said shut up!" Lachlan's shout startles me into silence. "You think I care what you want? You think I give a shit about some spoiled mafia princess? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's all you were. An opportunity."

The cruelty in his voice feels like a knife between my ribs. I know—I know—he's lying, that he's trying to save me, but the words still hurt.

My father is watching Lachlan with an expression I can't read. "You forced her," he says slowly.

"Yes."

"She didn't consent." He phrases it differently this time, as if he's trying to goad Lachlan into admitting it's a lie. 

"No."

"She fought you."

Lachlan's jaw tightens. "Yes." He tilts his head, showing the bite mark on his neck that I left there because he made me come so hard I drew blood. Now, with his lie, it looks like evidence that I fought back. That he overpowered me. 

Giovanni is quiet for a long moment. Then he turns to me. "Is this true?"

My mouth opens, then closes. I look at Lachlan, at the blood on his face, at the way he's holding himself so carefully, like he's already bracing for more pain. At the desperate hope in his eyes that I'll just go along with it. Begging me not to make him watch me die tomorrow, make me watch his father kill the woman he loves. 

I hear myself say the words, like an echo down a long hallway, and they feel and sound like they're not mine. "Yes," I whisper. "He forced me."

Something in Lachlan's expression crumbles, just for a second, before he schools it back into that hard, defiant mask.

"Well then." My father looks back at me. "That changes things, doesn't it? If you were forced, Adriana, then you're not responsible. You're still..." He waves a hand vaguely. "Damaged. But not by choice. I'll find some use for you." 

Tears spill down my cheeks. I should feel relieved that I'm going to live, but all I feel is hollow, like I've torn every vital part of myself out to prevent more pain for Lachlan than he's already going to suffer. 

Then my father turns back to Lachlan. "But you," he says softly. "You raped my daughter. You violated her. You took something that wasn't yours to take." He steps closer, until he's right in front of Lachlan. "You're going to die for that, slowly, and painfully. And when you're begging me to end it, when you're screaming for mercy, I want you to remember that this is what happens when you touch what belongs to me."

"No!" I wrench free from the man holding me and throw myself forward, grabbing my father's arm. "No, Papa, please, you can't—"

He backhands me.

The blow snaps my head to the side, and I taste blood. My cheek throbs, hot and sharp, and I stumble backward, my hand flying to my face. "Take her inside," Giovanni says to the man who'd been holding me. "Lock her in her room. I don't want to see her face until I've decided what to do with her."

"Papa—"

"Now."

The man grabs me again, rougher this time, and starts dragging me toward the house. I fight him, twisting and pulling, my feet sliding on the grass.

"Lachlan!" His name tears out of me, a desperate, broken sound. "Lachlan, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

He doesn't look at me. He's staring straight ahead, his face blank, as the other two men start dragging him in the opposite direction toward the outbuildings and whatever hell my father has planned for him.

"Please!" I'm sobbing now, the words barely coherent. "Please don't hurt him, please, I'll do anything—"

But no one's listening. The man pulls me through the garden, past the party guests who've started to notice something's wrong, their conversations dying as they watch Giovanni Santoro's daughter being dragged through the yard with tears streaming down her face and blood on her lip.

The last thing I see before we round the corner of the house is Lachlan, still held between my father's men, disappearing into the darkness.

—

They lock me in my room.

I pace for what feels like hours between my bed and the door. My face throbs where my father hit me, and my body aches in places I've never ached before, a soreness that would be sweet if it wasn't wrapped up in so much horror.

He's going to kill him. He's going to torture him and kill him, and it's my fault.

I should have been more careful. I should have waited, should have known my father would notice I was gone, should have—

Should have, should have, should have.

It doesn't matter now.

I try the door every few minutes, knowing it's locked but unable to stop myself. I bang on it until my fists hurt, screaming for someone to let me out, to tell me what's happening, but no one comes.

The house grows quiet as the party winds down. I hear cars leaving, voices fading, until there's nothing but silence pressing in from all sides.

I sink onto my bed, pulling my knees to my chest, and then I notice the blood—just a little, on my inner thighs, dried now and flaking. Evidence of what we did, of what I gave him freely, that he's now dying for.

I have to get to him.

The thought crystallizes, and suddenly it's the only thing in my head. I have to get to him. Have to see him, talk to him, tell him I'm sorry, tell him I love him, tell him—

Tell him goodbye.

I move to my window, testing it. I've snuck out this way before, but never under such duress, and never when there's probably security specifically told to make sure I don't leave the house. It takes me three tries, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the latch, but finally it gives. The window slides open with a soft scrape that sounds deafening in the quiet.

I don't let myself think. If I think, I'll lose my nerve.

I climb out onto the ledge, my bare feet scraping on the rough stone. It's a longer drop than I remember, and I land hard, my ankle twisting. Pain shoots up my leg, but I bite down on my lip and force myself to move.

The estate is dark. Most of the lights are off, the guards doing their rounds on the perimeter. I know their patterns—I've lived here my whole life. I know where the cameras are and their blind spots, how to move through the shadows without being seen.

I make my way toward the outbuildings, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. There are three buildings back here—storage, mostly, and one that my father uses for... other things. Things I'm not supposed to know about. That's where they'll have taken him.

The door is unlocked, which sends a jolt of fear through me—either Lachlan is dead or so incapacitated they aren't worried about him running… or maybe he's just tied up. I cling to that last hope as I slip inside, and the smell of copper and sweat and dirt hits me.

"Lachlan?" My voice comes out as a whisper. "Lachlan, are you here?"

There's a soft, pained sound. I follow it deeper into the building, past empty closets and storage crates, until I find him.

Oh God.

He's on the floor, his back against the wall, and there's so much blood. His face is swollen, one eye nearly shut, his lip split in multiple places. His shirt is gone, and I can see the bruises blooming across his ribs in swathes of dark purple and black. One of his hands is bent at a wrong angle.

"Lachlan." I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over him, afraid to touch and hurt him more. "Oh God, Lachlan, what did they do to you?"

His good eye opens, focusing on me with difficulty. For a second he just stares, like he can't quite believe I'm real. "Adriana?" His voice is rough, barely more than a rasp. "What... what are you doing here?"

"I came to get you out." I'm already looking around, trying to figure out how to move him, where to take him. "Can you stand? We need to—"

"No." He tries to shake his head and winces. "No, you need to go. If they find you here—"

"I don't care." I look around for something to cut the zip ties on his wrists and ankles, and eventually find a toolbox and something with a sharp edge. He groans with pain as I saw at the zip tie around his wrists, jostling his broken hand, but when it snaps free, he lets out a breath of relief.

When he's freed, I slide my arm under his shoulders, trying to help him up. He's so much heavier than I expected—solid muscle and dead weight. "Come on. We're leaving. Together. Like we planned."

"Adriana—"

"We'll go upstate. We'll find a way to get into Canada. Or we can go hide somewhere in the Midwest. Or—or anywhere. Somewhere far away where my father can't find us. We'll change our names, we'll—"

"Stop." His hand—the one that isn't broken—catches my wrist. "Stop, please. You can't... you can't come with me."

"Yes, I can. We can—"

"Your father will never stop looking for you." Lachlan's eye is locked on mine, and the hopelessness in his expression that makes my chest tighten. "You're his daughter. His property. He'll hunt you to the ends of the earth, and when he finds you, he'll kill us both. Slowly. You know that. Even if I were to lie again, say I kidnapped you… there's no guarantee he'd believe it a second time."

"I don't care—"

"I care." His grip on my wrist tightens. "I care, Adriana. I'm not letting you throw your life away for me."

"You threw yours away for me!" The words come out too loud, echoing in the empty building. I lower my voice, leaning closer. "You lied to save me. You let them do this to you. How is that different?"

"Because I chose it." His voice cracks. "I chose to save you. Don't take that away from me by getting yourself killed."

Tears start streaming down my face again, and I feel like they'll never stop. "I can't just leave you. I can't—"

"Yes, you can." He pulls me closer with his good hand, until our foreheads are touching. "You have to. It's the only way this works. If you stay, if you tell your father you're sorry, that you were raped, that you couldn't stop me... he might let you live. But if you run, if you disappear with me, he'll never stop hunting us. Every moment of our lives will be spent looking over our shoulders. Every knock on the door could be him. Every stranger could be one of his men. Is that what you want?"

"I want you." The words are barely a whisper. "I just want you."

"I know." His thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away tears. "I know, baby. But you can't have me. Not like this. Not if it means you die too."

"So what, I'm just supposed to let you go? Pretend this never happened?"

"You're supposed to live, Adriana. Try to be happy. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted."

"I can't be happy without you. I can't live without you—"

"You'll learn." He leans back, his hand falling away from my face. "Now go. Before someone realizes you're gone. I can sneak out of here myself."

"Lachlan—"

"Go, Adriana. Please." His eye closes, and I can see how much this is costing him, how much pain he's in physically and emotionally, how exhausted he is. "I can't... I can't watch you die. I can't. So please, just go."

I should argue more, fight harder. I should refuse to leave until he lets me go with him.

But he's right. I know he's right.

If I run, my father will never stop hunting us. His reach is too long, his resources too vast. We'd spend every day waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to find us, for the bullet or the knife or the hands around our throats.

But if I stay, if I play the victim, if I let Lachlan take all the blame…

He might escape. He might survive.

It's the only way.

"I love you," I whisper. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." His voice breaks on the words. "Now go."

I lean forward and kiss him, tasting blood and salt and earth on his mouth. His lips are swollen and split, but he kisses me back anyway, pouring everything we can't ever have again into this one last moment.

When I pull away, I don't look back. If I look back, I'll never leave. I make it to the door before his voice stops me.

"Adriana."

I pause, my hand on the doorframe.

"I'll come back for you. Someday. When it's safe, when I'm strong enough to protect you. I'll come back."

I want to believe him. I want to hold onto that promise like a lifeline, enough to keep me from drowning for the rest of my days, until he comes back to me.

But we both know it's a lie.

"Okay," I whisper anyway. "I'll wait."

Then I step out into the darkness and leave him behind.